Home Strike
by BlueJuvenal
Summary: The fifteenth installment of the James and Morgan saga, the cousins gather information on the Man-Slayer, but not before a strike at their family.  All characters are original, with concepts by J. K. Rowling.


**Thursday, February 16th, 7:44 PM**

Morgan leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The noise from the tables was eating the flesh of her ear drums. Invigorated by ale, people around her were discussing boisterously their days, their episodes, and their endless opinions concerning both. She usually enjoyed the commotion of Edwin's Tavern. It was a quaint and cheery meeting place for many witches and wizards. Tonight, her fellow diners became for her a team of carefree children she was somehow responsible for. She wished most of them would gather themselves up, pay their fares, and head home. They might not be safe there, but they at least would be out of her sight. Then she wouldn't feel as if they were targets.

"This wasn't a good idea." Confessor conceded across from her. Morgan opened her eyes and took in the dark, handsome, bearded face of her husband. The waxy candle between them mercilessly highlighted the rings under his eyes. Morgan tried to remember a time when the rings were non-existent. Perhaps he developed them at school, when she would relay to him everything she felt concerning the many boys who took an interest in her. Goddess knows she could have tacked on wrinkles to even the most youthful listener.

"No, it's fine." Morgan replied. She took a sip of her beer and managed a smile. "I'm glad we're here. We needed it. Circe's with James and Jaime, and it's nice to just have us, even if it's only for an hour or two." Morgan took Confessor's hand in her own on the tabletop. "It's been a long day, in a long week."

Confessor nodded. "Maybe we can have your parents over tomorrow night. You know, get them out of the house."

Morgan rubbed her thumb against Confessor's palm. She wasn't completely sure how he felt about his in-laws, Richard and Braith. No spouse could know for certain, and perhaps such knowledge was not entirely desirable. However, Confessor appreciated the trauma Morgan's parents experienced. They would need support from those they loved, even if their concept of love was warped and punctured. Confessor, being a healer, had many potions and spells at his command to cure people of their ailments, but Morgan figured a welcoming home would be the best and most palatable remedy for her mother and father.

"It's curious, isn't it? We're hunting a monster, but a monster who saved my mother's life." Morgan finished her beer. "Heck, he might have saved. ." Morgan stopped and let her unspoken words wash over her brain.

"Morgan, what is it?"

Morgan stilled her mind and tried to block out the wizard perched on the dais in the front daintily playing a fiddle.

"I don't know yet."

The diamond amulet Confessor wore around his neck flashed brightly, and Morgan's wand began to vibrate at her side. She drew it, rested the swarthy tip against her temple, and let the magical message unfold in her head.

"_Captain Westerling, report to Black Mountain Penitentiary immediately. Aura red, aura red, authorization 'silver shield of storms'. Over._"

"What's yours say?" Confessor asked resignedly.

Morgan shook her head and breathed out. "It's back to the Mountain for me."

"Me too."

Morgan stood up. "Shall we go together?"

Confessor stood as well and placed a stack of gold coins on the table next to his beer glass. "What about James?"

Morgan put her cloak on. "There's no time. I'll send a Patronus to him once I get a handle on the situation."

Confessor grunted. "The prison's had a busy couple of days. I hope this is my last visit for a long time."

**7:54 PM**

James pressed down on the brake with his foot at the traffic light, and the car squeaked.

"Why is it making that noise?" Circe asked from the back seat.

"It's the brakes, I have to get them checked." James replied.

Circe chewed on her bubble gum and looked out the window. Jaime turned to her from the front passenger seat.

"Circe, how are you liking the ride?"

Circe didn't glance at her, but continued to gaze out the frosty window. "It's slow and bumpy. Mom and Dad know how to fix our broom so it doesn't shake in the sky."

Jaime faced forward again and James hit the gas as the light turned green. He figured taking Circe out on a ride wasn't the brightest idea Jaime ever had, but still, it was an excuse to get out of the house and pass the time until Morgan and Confessor returned home.

"Can I try driving?" Circe asked suddenly.

Jaime laughed and James smiled. He saw in the rearview mirror Circe was frowning.

"What's so funny?" She questioned pointedly.

"Sorry, Circe, it's just that you have to be seventeen before you can drive." Jaime replied.

"Seventeen? Are you kidding? What's the big deal? It looks like it's just a few buttons and a wheel. I've played with Grandpa's stuff, and it had more buttons than this car."

James detected Circe's annoyance. She had developed a taste for challenging James and Jaime's authority, and here was an opportunity to indulge it. James slowed the car down and took his hands off the wheel.

"I'll tell you what, sport, if you can steer the car from where you are, using your wand, I'll let you drive all you want."

Circe rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the side window. "Whatever."

James knew he had defeated her, but he was curious to know if Circe's antagonism stemmed from the fact that he and Jaime were adults, Muggles, or both. He gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"So do you know how your grandfather's gadgets work?"

"Not really." Circe returned dismissively.

"Well let me tell you there's more Muggle know-how involved than magic. Wands are cool and all, but brains can take you just as far," James maintained his smile. "If you've got them."

Circe lowered the window, and spat her gum into the cold, black night. "All I know is his stuff will work more for me than it will work for you."

James kept his lips curled, but was nevertheless stung by Circe's retort. Her words were venomous and forceful, even for an eleven-year-old. He considered how people are best taught the power of language through wounds as opposed to boons.

"Jeez, Circe, do you have to be so mean to us all the time? Are we really that bad?" Jaime asked. James turned the corner of their block and didn't have a chance to register Circe's expression in the mirror. He only noticed she remained quiet the remainder of the minute it took them to get home.

**8:00 PM**

Morgan Apparated side-by-side with Confessor inside the enormous, stone circle. She saw right away something was terribly wrong at the prison. Bright searchlights were combing the tall, rugged wall of the mountain. All the reinforced windows along the zone perimeter were illuminated and armed with guards. A bearded wizard draped in a dark, heavy cloak approached them from the wide double-doors.

Confessor drew his wand. "This can't be good."

The wizard's face came into view and Morgan recognized him as the warden. She stepped towards him.

"What happened?"

"We had another breach. It was the Man-Slayer."

Confessor lit his wand. "Please lead me to the victim, if it's not too late."

"No, nobody was killed." He looked at Morgan, failed to meet her eye, and then glanced back at the entrance.

Morgan considered the wizard shrewdly. "The facts, Warden, if you please."

"There's been a break-out." The wizard scratched his head. "Argola."

Morgan's blood pumped furiously into her brain. She blew past her husband and the warden and dashed towards the mountain.

"Captain! Please!" The warden called behind her. Morgan reached the large, imposing doors and slashed at them with her wand, blasting them violently inward on their hinges. The guards on duty accosted her.

"Ma'am, we must. ."

"Gentlemen, please step aside and allow me to evaluate the situation. And don't give me any shit about wand prohibition."

Confessor and the warden caught up with her. "Captain Westerling. ." The warden began, but he was cut off by Morgan.

"Warden, I recommend you put the prison in lockdown. Relocate all the inmates to the cafeteria, the showers, anywhere away from the outside walls." She instructed loudly.

"The facility _is_ in lockdown, and I don't appreciate being told how to do my job."

Morgan whipped around and faced the wizard. "Forgive the observation, but your most dangerous prisoner just escaped, most likely due to faulty security measures. I warned your guards earlier about the inadequacy of Argola's bonds. Until you can establish control over the situation, I will carry out my investigation as I see fit. Complaints can be addressed to the United States League of Aurors." Morgan looked at Confessor; he seemed troubled, but remained silent. She readjusted her amber cloak. "Now tell me what exactly happened."

**8:07 PM**

Circe removed her cloak from her shoulders and tossed it on the living room chair. She smiled as Jaime maneuvered awkwardly in the darkness.

"Circe, how do you turn on the lights around here?"

"Babe, I got it." James lit a match and applied it to the tapers on the coffee room table. Circe placed her palm on the lighting orb by the window, causing it to glow brightly. She watched James and Jaime shuffle around the house, settling themselves into her home. She regretted picking a fight with them in the car. It would now be more difficult to get what she wanted. She decided it was best to take control of the circumstances herself instead of giving the Muggles the option of exercising power.

"So I'm going to just watch some of the Quidditch match before bed." She stated in what she hoped was a casual, though impregnable, tone.

"Did you finish your homework?" James asked as he walked towards the bathroom. Circe's irritation formed behind her eyes. James had forced her into taking ignoble steps.

"Sure I did." She lied.

James turned towards her after placing his Glock and harness on the lamp stand in the hallway. Circe couldn't read his face, which she took for a bad sign.

"Really? And when did you have time to do that? You haven't been out of my sight all evening, and I don't remember you reciting your multiplication tables."

Circe stomped her foot. "It's just math, just a bunch of numbers! I'm not going to need any of it anyway next year! What difference does it make?"

"And what will your teachers at Salem think when they hear you don't do your homework when you don't feel like it? Huh? You're not going to win any points with that attitude."

"This is so lame! You're not my dad! You're just a. ." Circe stopped when she saw the anger strike James' face. She was frustrated, but not frustrated enough to outright insult her mom's cousin.

Jaime picked up Circe's cloak from the chair and handed it to her. She was not smiling, but when she spoke her voice was soft.

"Why don't you hang this up in the closet on your way to your room. James here is great at math, so if you need help, just ask him."

Circe stared at her blankly, and after a second spun on her heel and marched to her room. She made sure her footsteps were forceful enough to shake the glass of the dining room chandelier.

**8:13 PM**

Confessor followed the warden into the nurse's office on the ground floor of the prison. Morgan's robes swished loudly behind him. She was agitated, but she would have to wait until Confessor was finished with his task. Only then would hers begin.

The room was well-lit and warm, which was a comforting change from the rest of the fortress. On the corner cot a guard was sitting up, looking glumly at her boots beneath her robes.

"Gertrude?" Confessor asked. The witch looked up and nodded.

"I'll leave you two to your separate duties. If you need me I'll be in the administration chamber." The warden instructed them formally. He made a bow and swept out of the office. Confessor took in the eager face of his wife.

"Just give me a couple minutes, okay?"

Morgan blinked and folded her arms across her chest. Confessor was almost urged to smile at her pouting face; she reminded him of Circe being told to wait before she could open her birthday presents. Confessor looked down at Gertrude and noticed blood in her hair.

"I know the nurse tended to you, but I'm going to do a quick check myself, if you don't mind." Confessor circled his wand over Gertrude's head. He heard her swallow thickly.

"Are you feeling dizzy, or experiencing any pain?" Confessor asked.

"No." Gertrude replied lowly.

Confessor nodded. "According to the warden, you had quite a bump on your head. Your nurse should be commended for patching you up so effectively."

"I. .I don't even remember getting hit." Gertrude glanced at Confessor and then at Morgan behind him. "I just remember seeing those gray wings, and those red eyes." Gertrude shook her head and closed her eyes. "She fooled me. She fooled us all. And now she's out there." She focused on Morgan. "I'm ashamed of the way I was tricked, but I'm not ashamed to tell you this, Captain: I don't envy the task before you, the task of bringing him down. He might have at one point been human, but he's not anymore. God help the Aurors. God help us all."

Confessor stowed his wand and turned towards Morgan. He heard a potion bubble in a closed cabinet.

"She's yours."

**8:14 PM**

Circe slammed her math workbook shut and rested her head on her desk. She wished Mom and Dad would get home. She wasn't exactly sure how they could alleviate her frustrations, but at least everything would seem more normal with them around. Their conflict with her would at least be more familiar, and therefore less imposing.

She admitted to herself that James and Jaime were, if anything, the nicest Muggles she knew. They understood poignantly their own differences, their awkwardness, and they did their best to harmonize with the house. Still, Circe considered her home a lesser space with them in it. They were always around, and Circe felt she always had to be polite. She was embarrassed to skip through the hallway, in case Jaime saw her and started laughing. No longer would she linger casually at the dinner table, since Jaime had a habit of interrogating her about school. When would Mom catch this boogeyman already, so things could go back to being normal?

The face of Doctor Wiggins, her counselor, and the didactic words of her mother ran together in Circe's head, two shades of the same color blending into a meaningless gray. As part of her counseling, Circe was instructed to role-play a Muggle, in particular one confronted by hostile witches and wizards. She considered the exercise pointless, and she giggled through the first segment of it. She remembered her mother's anger when she learned of her lack of appreciation for the drill.

"Circe, if you cherish your prejudices now, they'll resurface later in different, more subtle, forms." Mom had warned. "Hatred, even justified hatred, inspires no love."

Circe thought about her love for her family, and her occasional rages at her classmates, and weighed the two, as if they were fruit in a market. What taste in the end did she desire? Both energized her, both quelled the thirsts in her heart, and yet the grown-ups were trying to convince her one was good and one was bad. She figured she could devour both for the time being, and sort everything out later. There would be plenty of time for defining her identity, for choosing the shape of her own being.

Circe lifted her head and re-opened her workbook, when she heard a thump inside her closet.

**8:16 PM**

"I'm going to check in with the warden." Confessor stated.

"I shouldn't be that long." Morgan said quietly. She admired her husband's professional efficiency. He would make a fine Auror, if only he had a keener scent for prey.

Confessor left the nurse's office and closed the door behind him. Morgan sat down on the cot next to Gertrude and looked at her steadily.

"Were you briefed on Argola's background and powers?"

Gertrude's high forehead wrinkled. "Yes."

"Then you will be well advised to take that information seriously, and properly employ it," Morgan's eyes narrowed, but her lips formed a small smile. "When we catch her again."

Gertrude curtly nodded. Morgan felt a lapping of pity when she observed the witch's disheveled hair.

"You may not adequately recall the attack, but your memory of it is most likely complete." Morgan leaned in closer to Gertrude. "Will you allow me to perform Legilimency?"

"Anything to get that monster, sure."

Morgan sat up straight and considered Gertrude's coffee-black eyes. "Good. Now look into my eyes, and allow me inside."

Gertrude steadied herself on the cot and didn't break eye-contact with Morgan, who swam into the black surface and ran through the immediate recollections. She saw herself prepare Helena's evening mug of milk, careful to add just enough sugar. She carried the mug out of the break room and down the last hallway of the cell block.

"Was this a routine, you bringing her milk every night?" Morgan asked.

"It was. We pitied her for wearing the blindfold all day. She was always so sweet."

Morgan watched herself open the door to Helena's room. She adjusted her amber spectacles so they did not pinch the back of her ears so harshly. She was not surprised to see Helena by the window; it was her most common position in the cell. Morgan placed the mug on the floor and watched in shock Helena remove her blindfold. She had seen magical projections of Helena's uncovered face, but they did not do the solid, gray mass of her eyes justice. They reminded Morgan of two full moons of lead.

"Dammit, Helena! Why did you do that? Now I have to inform the block mistress!" Morgan stomped her foot. She did not wish to discomfort Helena, but now she would have no choice. "What was the point? I'm wearing my glasses! You can't control me!"

She witnessed Helena's broad smile. It was as if the witch had been told her soul was forever saved. Morgan didn't understand her jubilation, and didn't understand her words.

"It is not you I need to control."

Morgan saw the wall explode before she heard it. Something flashed white in front of her face, and the next instant she was stretched on the ground in a cloud of dust. She glanced over and saw Deegan standing next to Helena. They reminded Morgan of two characters in a horror film James had once seen with Jaime on a date.

Deegan prepared to strike Helena with his sharpened wing, but he was held spellbound by her voice, by her depthless eyes. Why would he want to attack her and not Gertrude?

"Are you still with me, Gertrude?" Morgan questioned.

"Yes. Read my mind all you want, Captain. I hope it serves you well." Gertrude responded.

Morgan saw Helena approach her. When she squatted, her blond hair danced in front of Morgan's dazed face.

"Don't be too angry with him. After all, he just saved your life. Make sure you tell that to the 'Auror of Reason' the next time you see her."

Morgan blinked and tumbled out of Gertrude's head. She felt a cold coin drop into her stomach.

"Are you finished?" Gertrude asked.

"It was a message." Morgan said to herself. She swallowed and gazed ironically at Gertrude. "It was a message for me."

**8:15 PM**

Circe flinched at the second thump. There was nothing magical in her closet, nothing that could jump around by itself, at least as far as she knew. If it was a vampire, it would have opened the door by now and confronted her. If it was a wraith, or a lich, or even an Inferius, Circe probably wouldn't be alive anymore. Had Sally or Xema learned to Apparate? Circe carefully stood up from her desk and took a step towards the closet. She picked up her wand by the lamp. She didn't know any proper spells, none that would sufficiently protect her, but maybe her raw magic would be enough. Perhaps it was enough just being a witch.

"Hello?" Circe called out meekly. She didn't want her voice to carry to the living room, where James and Jaime were. She wanted to be able to handle the problem by herself.

The door thumped again, and the brass knob rattled. Circe swallowed and remembered suddenly Dad talking to Mom about an outbreak of Boggarts in the area. He had instructed Circe to get either himself or Mom if she ever confronted one. Well, Mom and Dad weren't around, and Circe doubted a pair of Muggles would be able to do much.

"If you're a Boggart, I'm not afraid of you, do you hear?" Circe said evenly, even with a touch of pleasure. James had poked fun at her in the car for not being able to use her wand, but now was her chance to demonstrate her powers.

"Go ahead, open the door why don't you?" Circe goaded. The door knob turned, and the door slowly opened. Circe stepped back. She finally felt fear; the closet was now open, and nothing separated its mystery from herself anymore. A withered, white hand appeared from behind the frame, and Circe saw in horror her Aunt Rose emerge from the darkness. Circe raised her wand.

"You! I'm. .I'm not afraid of you! You're just a Boggart!"

Aunt Rose smiled fiendishly and took a step towards Circe. Everything seemed familiar about her, her crisp blouse, her flawless hair, her jagged winkles, but she wasn't real, so Circe told herself in her head.

"Get back! I'm warning you!" Circe felt the spidery legs of her rage tap against her chest. "I don't care what Mom says, or Doctor Wiggins! You're the one who started it! You started everything!" Circe was clutching her wand so tightly, she wondered how it didn't snap in her fingers. She figured James and Jaime could hear her at this point, but she didn't care anymore; she wanted them to burst in on her, to witness her triumph.

Aunt Rose laughed, and Circe let the Darkness coat her mind. She didn't know the Unforgivable curses, but even if she did, there was no reason in her brain for her to properly formulate them. She only recognized a raw, animal instinct, a base desire for pain, for death.

"What's going. ." James didn't finish his question from Circe's doorway. Circe didn't turn towards him, but kept her menaced eyes on Aunt Rose. When she was shoved onto her bed by James, her anger finally broke.

"No! She's mine! I don't care if she's. ." Circe couldn't complete her thought, because Aunt Rose had suddenly disappeared. Standing in her place was another woman, this one much younger and prettier, with long, curly, black hair. She gazed at James cunningly.

"No!" James whispered. His voice was soft, but Circe detected his fear.

"James? Are you. ." Jaime stared at the woman in front of Circe's closet. "Heather? What's going on here?"

"Jaime! Get back! Get back to the living room!" James shouted. Jaime blinked at her fiancée. Her hand stretched out before her, and then something popped in both of Circe's ears. She cried out as a cold blast of air pushed her against the bed post. Her wand fell onto her sheets, which were covered with paint flecks and debris.

"Oh my God! James!" Jaime screamed.

Circe took in the space where her window once was. Standing in the breech of the ruined wall was a man with a deformed face and bloody eyes. The muscles on his spiked wings were hairy and large. He stared at Circe and howled lustily, allowing the ice of the night to flood the house.

**8:25 PM**

Confessor and the warden glanced occasionally at Morgan as she paced inside the administration chamber. She barely acknowledged their presence. She continuously saw Helena in her mind, bending low to her, whispering her clue.

"Argola's been around a long, long time. Maybe she's seen this magic before." Confessor offered.

Morgan bit her lip. She wished James was with her. She knew Confessor was intelligent, but Morgan tended to think better with James at her side. Every time her husband opened his mouth, she thought he was going to inform her that dinner was ready or the broom was waxed.

"No. She put the puzzle together as it was unfolding." Morgan said.

"How do you know?"

Morgan looked at the warden's desk. On top of it was a copy of the _New York Mage_. It was from the other day, and the headline read, 'TAILOR SOUGHT FOR MAN-SLAYER INVISIBILITY CLOAK QUESTIONS'.

"Because she told me so in the message." Morgan picked up the newspaper, but stared abstractly at the torch on the wall. "She referred to me as 'the Auror of Reason'. That phrase was used in the title of my interview with _The Mage_." Morgan looked at the warden. "Missy said she had been reading copies of the newspaper every night, correct?"

"That's right." The warden replied.

"She's been gathering the facts, making deductions. ." Morgan plopped the paper back down on the desk. "And I think I can guess at her conclusion. I've been thinking about it tonight as well."

Confessor folded his arms against his chest. "Well?"

"What if Deegan can sense murder?"

Confessor raised his eyebrow, but Morgan didn't allow him the chance to talk.

"Think about it: Walter abducts him from the hospital, but instead of killing him, he decides to use him for his own purposes, maybe as a bodyguard, since Walter knew he would be wanted by the authorities for his black market activities." Morgan resumed her pacing. "Walter has knowledge of magic-based technology, which would enable him to mutate Deegan's body and infuse him with the ability to sense danger or fatal threats to his person. But Walter's expertise is limited, and instead of Deegan turning into the ultimate helpmate. ."

"He goes crazy, but still has a gift for smelling death threats." Confessor stroked his beard. "Interesting hypothesis, sugar. But, assuming Deegan kills his victims for food, why would he adhere to his sense? Why not just kill at will?"

"Because he knew if he over-exposed himself, he could be tracked, regardless of invisibility or Apparition. He sticks to his sense because those who are about to commit murder do so secretively, presumably away from crowds. Remember, Deegan's victims were all accompanied by witnesses, in private settings or at quiet hours. Walter himself was about to kill Mom right before he appeared." A piece shifted into place in Morgan's head, and her eyes lit up. "What if Mandy Cole was about to spring at Doctor Wiggins in an escape attempt? I read Wiggins' memory of the attack, and noticed Mandy twitch her arm as Wiggins moved towards her. She might have been concealing a shank. It wasn't found after her murder, because it was just assumed by the investigators to be a shard of the blasted wall!"

"But Mandy was surrounded by guards and other inmates. It wasn't an ideal setting for a strike." The warden rebutted.

"Yes, but it's possible Deegan has memory retention. He would remember Mandy as his brother's killer. The attack in this instance was personal, and perhaps caution was tossed aside for an opportunity at vengeance."

The warden nodded his ashen head. "Argola realized the Man-Slayer's gimmick, and was able to summon him by planning in her head Gertrude's murder."

Confessor smiled. "That's what she must have meant when she told Gertrude Deegan had saved her life!"

"That's why Deegan went after her instead of Gertrude." Morgan turned from the warden's desk. "Okay, now I need James. We have to get working on this theory, right away." Morgan thought of her cousin at home with Circe. "I hope he's not too tired to get some work in."

**8:21 PM**

James shook his head. He wasn't sure if he was cut or not, but he didn't smell blood, at least not yet. His ears were ringing, but he figured he would have to be completely deaf to not hear the monster's howl. He picked himself off the ground. He wasn't sure where Jaime was, but he didn't have time to check. He only had time to observe Deegan standing before the ruptured wall. James was glad he hadn't grown taller since the last time he saw him. He still looked human enough to be captured, to be harmed.

Deegan darted his head at the Boggart, who immediately transformed from Heather into James himself. Deegan roared again and slashed at the Boggart with his razor wing; the Boggart vanished in a puff of black smoke.

James knew he didn't have time to grab his Glock from the lamp stand in the hallway. With Deegan's head turned, James lunged at him and wrapped his arms around his gnarled, gray wings. He didn't halt his momentum, but pushed the monster onto the floor amidst the rubble. Circe began screaming on her bed, but before James could give her instructions, he felt Deegan's jagged teeth push into his shoulder. James roared, but didn't release his hold on Deegan.

"James!" Circe yelled.

"Circe, get out of here! Now!" James shot back. His fingers pressed deeply into the spongy texture of Deegan's wings; he wished he would hear them crack. His shoulder was throbbing, and he knew with each agonizing pulse he was losing blood. After a few seconds, Deegan unclamped his snout from James' flesh and brought his knees up into his gut. James flew backwards and landed near the doorway.

He stumbled to his feet and grabbed his shoulder, which was hot and wet. He looked into Deegan's red eyes.

"Scared of me, you fucker? Good. I brought you down once, and I'm about to do it again!"

Deegan crouched down, spread his dragon wings, and snarled. His mutated mouth was splattered with blood. When he spoke, James could barely recognize the Southern accent behind the gargling.

"I came for the girl, but I'll settle for you."

James readied himself for the attack, but when it happened, he didn't have time to react. Deegan slashed at his stomach with inhuman speed, ripping his shirt and splitting his skin. James stepped back and clutched his marred belly. He hoped his eyes didn't reveal his fear and shock. His body was enveloped in pain, but he refused to yield to it. If he did, he, Circe, and Jaime would become victims. He steadied himself and waited for Deegan's next swipe. When it came, James braced himself and caught the wing in his hands. He twisted it violently and this time heard it snap. Deegan screeched and smashed his free arm into James' face. James released Deegan as his broken teeth pattered onto his tongue like snowflakes. He wanted to roar again, but he knew doing so would only cause him additional torture. He positioned himself in front of Circe.

"Freeze! You. .you. ." Jaime was shaking in the doorway as she pointed James' Glock at Deegan. Deegan twisted towards her, and when his eyes were completely turned, James reared back and hooked him in the snout. Jaime added her scream to Circe's as James once again lunged at the monster before he could shake off the punch. James forced his fingers under Deegan's throat, and he ruthlessly began to tighten them. Deegan meanwhile stabbed violently at James' sides. James knew the blows were landing; there was a searing pain with each strike.

"You're not going to get us, do you hear? You're not going to get us!" James spat through his mangled mouth. He again underestimated Deegan's agility and strength; at the rate the monster was beating his spiked wings, James would have to let go of him due to fractured ribs or loss of blood, whichever came first.

"James! Back off and I'll shoot him!" Jaime shouted.

"No! Jaime, take Circe and. .!"

Deegan threw James off him and swiftly brought his wing down on his forearm; James watched his severed hand fall onto the littered, blood-soaked carpet. A black cloud formed over his eyes, but was immediately dissipated by a blast of gunfire. Deegan staggered back and rubbed his chest where the bullets struck. He pranced back towards the breech in the wall, and James lost consciousness when Deegan disappeared completely from sight.

**Friday, February 17th 4:14 AM**

James opened his eyes. He realized right away he couldn't move or feel his own body. He gasped, but was calmed by Morgan, who was sitting at his bedside.

"James, just relax. Everything's okay. Breathe deeply, cousin."

"Morgan. Jaime? Circe? What. ."

"They're recovering from shock, but otherwise are fine."

James swallowed. "Deegan?"

"He's still at large, but don't concern yourself with him right now. He won't attack you here. He won't attack any of us, ever again." Morgan touched his bandaged arm. "I know everything that happened. You were magnificent, you. ."

"No. He's still out there. Morgan, I know what he's capable of, what he can muster. We have to track him, before he strikes again."

"We will, James. You had a busy night, and so did I. Once you're healed, we have work to do, and when we're finished, Deegan will be ours."

Many questions formed in James' head at once, and he was deciding which one to ask when the door to his room opened. He looked over Morgan's shoulder and saw Circe's small silhouette.

"Mommy, is he okay?" She asked fretfully.

"Yes, pumpkin, but he needs rest."

Circe ignored her mother's words and raced to James' side. She wrapped her arm around his mended stomach and rested her head on his chest. James smiled, but wasn't sure his lips responded to his emotion.

"Dad fixed your hand, so don't worry about it." Circe informed him tenderly.

"Thanks, sport." James closed his eyes and listened to the rustling robes of both mother and daughter.


End file.
